Stolen Dreams
by rogue empress
Summary: Christine's big break during the rehearsal for Hannibal...as seen through a chorus girl's eyes.


_Carlotta is leaving. Carlotta is leaving. Carlotta is LEAVING! AH! Now's my chance! _Reyer himself said as soon as that old lady leaves, he'd be proud to present me as the leading soprano in her place, so long as I spoke up when the opportunity presented itself. And here was the opportunity, presenting itself like a ... well, like Carlotta...and all I could do was blink at it. Suddenly scolding myself into shape, I began shoving my way from the back of the meandering mob that had formed from the lines of the chorus, past all of the other chorus girls, pulling my heavy skirts behind me. I was careful not to step on any one else's dress - difficult as that was, and I hurriedly said excuse me and placed my hand politely on people's shoulders so that they wouldn't back up and step on me as I made my way downstage. I almost instantly regretted my choice to be nice as I was almost to the managers when I heard Madame Giry interject through the murmurs of the cast and crew.

"Christine Daae could sing it, Sir."

"Christine Daae?" I thought, "Awh. She's cute. ... WAIT! She's a _ballerina_! A Ballerina, I tell you! These are the girls who want to be in the Opera but after discovering they have no voice, limited acting talent, and their future with a musical instrument dead - ended after the first week, resulted to dancing! Please tell me they're not going to entertain this idea!"

They did. They actually entertained the idea. They invited a DANCER to audition for the leading female part in Hannibal.

Having abandoned my ploy to be polite, I shoved past the last clump of people, making Piangi humph as I whacked him in the side. I noticed this later as I replayed the scene in my mind, but for now, I was oblivious. As I burst onto down center, I was agape and stared at Reyer, searching for an answer to this lunacy.

He stared back with the same expression, and then sighed. His hands were tied, and I knew it. Although in my mind I knew a ballerina would never make the part of a soprano, I was not comforted in the least. Maybe she had a snowball's chance in Hell to get the part, but there was an absolute certainty the managers would not stand around for more than one audition. When they disapproved of the girl, they would leave the auditioning up to the voice coach, who, after cancelling rehearsal for five hours of straight auditions and call-backs, would decide she was too tired to decide, and go home to bed.

At a loss, now, I simply stood there and watched the poor girl step forward, trembling, and watch maestro for her cue. I felt bad for her. Bombing this audition would surely be the end of her social acceptance at the opera house. That's of course totally unfair, but completely true. "Welcome to show biz..." I thought, saying a sad little goodbye to her in my mind. "Awh, and she was a sweetheart, too."

Christine took a deep breath and began. "Think of me. Think of me fondly when we've said good-bye..."

"Hey. She's pretty good," I thought as I listened to her continue the song. "Oops, flat there. Again. Sharp. Ouch! baaaaad pronunciation there. She's breathing wrong. Sharp again. She sounds like she needs to cough." I thought about stepping in and asking Reyer to stop and let her clear her throat before continuing. But then I realized that would be stupid, and probably piss Reyer off...not to mention it wouldn't help my little situation in the slightest. I looked over at the managers, who seemed to be enjoying Christine's little solo. They had every right to - she was very good. But surely they understood that there were about ten of us in the chorus who had perfect pitch, had been in voice lessons since we were able to talk, and would be a much better choice for the part. Not to mention those who, like me, were trying desperately to support a child on their mediocre chorus girl income. Even one performance's pay for a leading soprano was more than I made in three months. Every time I went to write my parents a letter and send money, I fantasized that it would begin, "Tell my boy I'm taking him shopping on Saturday. I made lead." And enclosed would be three tickets to the performance and an amount of money that would make my mother cry and my father sternly say it was too much and demand I take most of it back.

My attention turned back to the girl. She was beautiful, no doubt. Her long legs and neck just further went to compliment her ridiculous talent as a dancer. Everyone in the chorus and crew knew there was no rival to her natural, perfect, unconcious abilities in the entire ballet company, save Madame Giry herself. I assumed Andre and Firmin had noticed this too, as it was hard to miss. In fact if you watched any part of the ballet, your eyes became involuntarily drawn to her, mezmorized by her perfection, and you soon forgot the rest of the dancers. Surely the managers understood that to take Christine out of the ballet business to make her into a starving singer like me would be a cruel tragedy and an unspeakable loss to the dancing world.

Christine finished the aria, much to her releif, and I felt for her. Reyer nodded encouragingly at her terrified expression.

"Excellent, child." Firmin said as he went up and took her hand. "Congratulations. You've got the part."

The shock on Christine's face did not half the explosion of astonishment that I felt wrack through my mind at his statement. I think I might have actually staggered a little as the managers, satisfied with their decision, turned to go. Still agape, I looked again at Reyer for an answer. He blinked at me, showing his resignation.

I'd missed my chance.

Quickly, I turned and found my way backstage and into my dorm. I locked myself in, then sat on the bed with a sigh. "This wouldn't be so hard," I chastized myself, as tears began to well up in my eyes, "if you wouldn't be so foolish as to let yourself believe there was any hope." Still, though, despite my own advice, my mind lept forward to the close of Hannibal. Perhaps there would be another chance to audition for the lead in the next production. And perhaps, if the audience didn't approve of Christine at the gala, there would be a need to replace her. Maybe then I would be able to write that letter I've been dreaming about for seven years. I sighed. I had been saying 'maybe' my whole life.

"THIS BUSINESS SUCKS!" I yelled out.

My roomate used her key andcame in as I said that. She smiled knowingly at me, pulling a bottle from her skirts and pouring two drinks. "But you know you could never leave it."

I laughed, taking my drink from her. "Amen!" I said, toasting her, and downed it.


End file.
